


No Moral Compass

by Lozza342



Series: The Angel's Choices [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, All of the death, BAMF Dean, Big-Headed Dean, Brutal Murder, Castiel Has No Idea, Castiel Is So Done, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel's True Form, Crowley Trying and Failing to Control Dean, Dean Finds The Delights of Rock Salt and Holy Water, Dean Has an Admirer, Dean Lets Himself Be Ruled By the Mark of Cain, Dean Needs to Kill, Dean Still Eats, Dean is a Little Shit, Demon Dean, Demon Dean's True Form Doesn't Repel Castiel, Disgusting Motel Rooms, Drunk Dean, Everyone Underestimates Dean's Power, Gen, Hannah Despises Dean, Hannah Makes Bad Choices, IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, Karaoke, Killing Addiction, King of Research Sam, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, Metatron Being a Dick, Minor Character Death, Pie Shortages, Prank Wars, Ruler of Heaven Castiel, Sam Follows Path of Destruction, Sam Just Wants Dean to Behave, Sam Pushes Dean Too Far, Sam Started It, Sam and Dean Mistaken For Lovers, Sam and Dean Share a Moment, Scared Dean, Scary Dean, Snarky Dean, Soulless Sam Winchester, Vampires, Worried Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lozza342/pseuds/Lozza342
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 10 AU - 5 and a half weeks after the events of the season 9 finale – Dean is parading around with Crowley, his supposed ‘bestie’. Sam is running around with no soul(again) but still close to his newly demonised brother. Meanwhile, Castiel has taken control of Heaven, unaware of Dean’s resurrection and his fading grace still an issue.</p><p>This is my first fic, so please be kind! Constructive criticism welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In a mostly lively pub, on karaoke night - unluckily for everyone there - illuminated dimly by the flashing stage lights, a jolly Dean was singing _I’m Too Sexy_ terribly into the microphone in his hand, a half glass of beer held loosely in his other. One side of his face curled upwards in a grin as he sang. The room had a warm feel to it; tables full of people littered the room, clearly displeased with having to listen to this rubbish, and low lights hung from the ceiling. Of course most of the light was centred on Dean, much to everyone’s chagrin. Other than the obvious, spirits seemed high throughout and although there was a small flow of people leaving, most seemed content just enjoying the evening.

Dean gave a silent nod over the room as he caught sight of Crowley who was eyeing him. He was sat at a round table with two of his ‘stunt demons’ as Dean called them, not interested in them enough so not quite paying attention. The other Winchester was in the corner of the room up at the bar. He was chatting up the voluptuous bartender with a freshly made beer. She seductively slid a cheque to him, leaning over the bar on her elbows, a leg in the air. She whispered something in his ear, then pulled back and flashed him a gentle smile before she was called over to serve. Sam smiled and nodded to her, taking the beer and cheque before standing up and walking over to Crowley’s table, grinning smugly to himself.

The two demons that were sat with Crowley got up and left quite abruptly as Sam approached, having finished their business with Crowley and clearly wary of the younger Winchester. Sam sat down and an awkward silence ensued.

After the song ended (thank God), the room was left only with the sound of relieved chatter, causing a deafening silence around Crowley’s table. Finally, Sam breaks it “So this was your plan? Not something useful like keeping Hell in order? I get that now Queen Bitch Abaddon’s gone there’s no competition, but I would think that there was more to ruling Hell than sitting at bars and listening to your newly demonised buddy karaoke every song he knows – or even _doesn’t_ know for that matter – to death.”

Crowley snaps his gaze from the stage as the next song begins, filling the room once again with music and low groans. He turns to Sam, sighing “All in good time, Moose. You don’t have to stick around to listen to him. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” Crowley smirked and chuckled “Plus I don’t expect you to understand my intentions.”

“I have as much right to be here as you!” Sam protested, clearly not amused “He’s my brother after all. I see you’re trying to get rid of me, _all_ of me this time. I know something’s going on… Something you’re planning.”

“Who says there’s a hidden agenda?” Crowley questioned, getting a classic bitchface response, which elicited an amused smile from Crowley “Alright fine. I _always_ have a hidden agenda, but in all seriousness, I promised Dean a ‘howl at the moon’ and that’s what I’m giving him. For now, that’s all.”

“And sending demons to kill him?” Sam glared at Crowley, waiting for his reaction to this, his head tilted questioningly. Crowley glances up at the stage as if to see if Dean heard. Thankfully for Crowley he hadn’t. “Yes. I know about that. You think I wouldn’t notice you sending demons to kill my own brother?”

Crowley rolled his eyes “Oh come on, Moose. You couldn’t care less about your brother right now. Why have I got to explain myself to you, hmm?”

Letting out somewhat of a snort, Sam replied “That’s what you think. I care about Dean, _especially_ when he’s parading around with the King of Hell. I’m still a hunter, you know? It’s my job, the only thing I care about. I would still kill you in a heartbeat.”

“You don’t have a soul, moron. You would kill Dean in a heartbeat too. If you hadn’t noticed, he’s a _demon_. Knight of Hell, actually…” Crowley corrected himself. He was lucky he had bagged this demon. “Much the same as Abaddon, who if you hadn’t forgotten was killed by you two. You remember that? The whole reason for this? The First Blade, the Mark?” Crowley scoffed, looking up at Dean while adjusting his shirt collar.

Sam screwed his face, trying to get back Crowley’s attention. “That’s true, he is…” Sam paused. That’s right. Why would he work with a demon, even if it _was_ his own brother? They stopped at nothing to kill Abaddon, and this was the result. He couldn’t help but think it was his duty to get rid of Dean no matter what, and if not currently a demented soul, his brother would want that too. “We make a good team.” Sam said unsure if he believed this himself. He was sure they probably would “We’re stronger than ever. What would he think if I told him what you’ve been doing?”

Crowley huffed “You haven’t got a clue what I’ve been doing. I’m helping him.”

“‘Helping him’ my ass. You’re using him.” Sam drew in his eyebrows. Of course Crowley was using him. It’s what he does.

Taken aback, Crowley raised his voice enough to portray his anger that he would suggest such a thing, but not so much that anyone surrounding them could hear “Why would I use him? He’s my _best friend_!”

“Yeah, whatever” Sam snorted and stood up, motioning to Dean to get off the stage.

Dean complied almost instantaneously, since he had run out of beer. The song finished right on time. The room once again quietened. A few sighs of relief echoed around the room as Dean got down and made his way over to his brother.

Crowley stood up in front of Sam as he went to meet Dean, feeling rather short so close to the Sasquatch “Stay out of this for a minute, Moose. Let me talk to Dean. I’ll let you know everything. Just leave this to me.” Crowley said desperately.

Sam glared at Crowley for a few moments, thinking. He probably wouldn’t let him know everything, however what was between the demons was probably not something he wanted to be stuck in the middle of. Plus, it’s probably not in his best interest to start a fight with the King of Hell in a bar full of people. Weighing his options, Sam turned away and started heading out, his eyes grazing Dean’s as he does. Dean frowned and turned to Crowley “What’s up?” he asked curiously.

“Your brother’s a problem.” Crowley answered, clearly not keeping Dean’s attention as it wandered to the table. He put his empty glass down.

“No kidding. He got the hot bartender’s number already. Heh heh.” Dean picked up the cheque from earlier, showing it to Crowley “Trouble is… why’d he leave it here?” Dean mumbled, glancing around before sneaking the cheque in his back pocket with a smirk.

“Dean!” Crowley shouted, finally grabbing Dean’s attention “You know that’s not what I meant. If you hadn’t noticed, he’s still a hunter. There’s no reason he would keep us alive, even you. This was a bad idea… At least with a soul he would have a reason to keep us breathing.”

“He’s just minding his own business. It’s got nothing to do with me.” Dean rolled his eyes “Why are you so tense all the time, why so serious?” he huffed “The whole reason he doesn’t have a soul was so this exact thing wouldn’t happen, so he wouldn’t go around ruining everything for you.” Dean broke away and started to make his way toward the bar, Crowley trailing behind him.

Crowley sighed as they got up to the bar. He sat up next to Dean and placed his arms on the top. Dean ordered two shots (neglecting Crowley’s favourite cocktail) which were set down in front of him. Crowley tried not to look offended. As the bar tender walked away, Crowley began his explanation “Ruining everything for _us_.” He corrected, Dean huffing in amusement. “Listen. I wasn’t going to tell you just yet but your problem of a brother hasn’t given me the choice…” Crowley paused as Dean downed the first shot and placed it upturned on the bar; seemingly not getting the kick he wanted.

“Go on, Crowley…” Dean raised a brow and turned to him, his elbow leaning heavily on the bar.

“Now don’t get mad at me. This has all been for you…” Crowley started, glancing at Dean who held his eyes in a cold glare waiting for him to continue. _Daring_ him to continue. Crowley swallowed and found himself unable to break from the intense stare, however he continued “You see… about all those Abaddon ‘groupies’ that you keep happening upon? It may have been me sending them to you.” Crowley gets out uneasily. Dean leans forward menacingly at this, but before he could say anything, Crowley put his hands up “Hey, hey! Before you get like that. I’m helping you… to not get us in trouble… to keep you in line.”

_Shit_.

Clearly not satisfied with his explanation, Dean grunted lowly “ _In line_? The reason… the _only_ reason I’m here with you is because _you_ said it’s the best place for me. Heck if I know what I’m supposed to be doing! A ‘howl at the moon’. That’s what you said.” Dean frowned questioningly at Crowley, who felt small to even the shorter Winchester.

“Look. If you hadn’t noticed, it was _you_ who killed Abaddon; they would likely find you anyway. A Winchester and the killer of their queen. Since you have to kill, and I don’t want you going soft on me. We have to keep the Mark sated and us on a low profile. It’s easier this way.” Crowley explained releasing a breath as Dean turned to take the second shot, placing the glass next to the other.

“What I don’t get, Crowley, is the need to… keep me ‘in line’. I ain’t one of your stunt demons. I’m not taking orders from you. You have no right to do with me how you want.” Dean said, surprisingly calmly.

Crowley rolled his eyes “Even now you do not understand me…” he sighed. When he had read about Cain’s demonisation, and how the same could be done for Dean it was his chance, his chance to have a powerful demon on his side and not just any demon. Dean Winchester. The bane of his existence on his side, working for him, working _with_ him. The perfect arrangement. He had a vision of ruling Hell with his ‘bestie’, along with the perks of being King; he had protection and a partner. Dean.

“You’re right about that one. I really don’t understand you.” Dean scoffed “Why’d you even bring me back in the first place?”

“Oh don’t start this again” Crowley got down from the bar “We had this conversation when you woke. It wasn’t me who brought you back. It was the Mark li-”

“Like Cain, I know. It’s good to have me on Hell’s side, blah blah.” Dean interrupted, recounting what Crowley had told him when he woke up so very confused in the bunker on the night of his death. He then huffed “Just because I was resurrected as a demon does not automatically put me on Hell’s side. I’m on my own side. I owe you for the twisting of my soul. That’s it.”

Crowley sighed “I’m just looking out for you. You still have that wonderful Mark on your arm which may make you one of the most formidable beings to exist, but you’ve also got to kill. I can’t imagine your Moose being too happy about you killing innocents if it doesn’t suit him.” he watched for Dean’s reaction, however it was nothing more than contemplative.

“Hold on… _One_ of?” Dean said, mocking offense. “You’re right. I do have somewhat of a problem” he grunted, smirking. “It’s under control now. I no longer care.”

“Only because I’m controlling the influx of your victims.” Crowley corrects him “I’m the one dealing with the problem. If I hadn’t, who knows what you’d be right now.” he could tell he was stepping on rocky terrain, Dean glaring at him yet again. Gosh he was so touchy. “Calm down, Dean.”

That was it. First of all, Crowley had the nerve to send demons to kill him and make up a ridiculous excuse as to why, and then he insults his inability to cope with the effects of the Mark and _finally_ decided it was ok to tell him what to do. Dean stood up in front of Crowley and grabbed his coat, pulling him up so his face was close. Crowley held his breath, the Winchester almost lifting him off the floor. “You dare act like you own me. We’re done. I see you around me again I won’t think twice about gutting you.” Dean threatened in a low, gruff tone. He clenched his jaw and lifted his shirt up with his free hand, revealing the First Blade tucked into his jeans “Consider yourself warned, Crowley.”

Crowley let out the breath he was holding and swallowed, pulling away from Dean as his grip lessened. Dean gave Crowley one more piercing glare, before turning and striding out. Crowley grumbled and looked around. The people closest to him who had seen the commotion turned their attention away as he gave them a look, brushing and adjusting his coat “Bollocks.” he mumbled under his breath and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to update every week on Sunday, but since I won't be able to this week and as a celebration for my A-level results I'm just gonna leave this here now.

With Metatron in jail, and Castiel finally leading the angels, the only problem left was the matter of Castiel’s fading grace and his general condition. Hannah had brought it up in conversation with the angel, however he had dismissed it, apparently the least of his worries. At least he was talking now. After convincing Castiel to lead the angels, Hannah kept by his side to help when he was weak – which was a lot more recently. She couldn’t help but to feel responsible for his suffering. She hadn’t believed him, had left the one who saved her to follow Metatron. In any case, the state of Heaven improved. There were a few angels left on Earth, however Castiel had ordered that they be left alone lest any more angels were killed.

Five weeks and three days ago, the one that Castiel had rescued from Hell, the one who had taught him about what it was to be human, the one with whom he shared a profound bond, Dean Winchester, had died. Castiel kept his head down most days. He hadn’t heard from Sam which worried him to no end. He figured Sam would be in a similar state to his own, most likely even worse. He was Dean’s brother after all. All of this wasn’t Sam’s fault, however. It was his own. He hadn’t found and destroyed the Angel tablet in time for Dean to dispatch the Scribe and getting an angel blade through his chest instead. Dean Winchester is dead. For good this time.

His duty in Heaven was all he could think about. There was a time when he wouldn’t have cared that the human was dead but now… How could he not? There was no trace of the Righteous Man’s soul in Heaven which could only mean one thing. He was back in Hell. So much for raising him from perdition. It would make sense, someone who willingly took on the Mark of Cain would most certainly belong in Hell. But not Dean. He gives everything to do the right thing. Without the Mark he couldn’t have taken down Abaddon and Metatron. The one solace was the fact that he had managed to maintain his humanity. With Alastair now gone, Castiel prayed that Dean could continue to maintain his humanity back in Hell and not go down the road he had before.

-

Castiel was fading. He hadn’t got much time left. Hannah had to do something. There was only one thing for it, though. Making a deal with Metatron. No matter how much she hated him, he was the only one who knew the whereabouts of Castiel’s grace. With a breath, Hannah walked into Heaven’s jail and faced Metatron’s cell. He was sat facing the stone floor, completely bound in place. There was no way he was going anywhere.

Without looking up, Metatron spoke in his usual patronising tone “Hannah! It’s been a while. How’s Asstiel?” He looked up and grinned. Someone seriously needed to slap him.  
Hannah kept her cool. This was just him trying to provoke her. It wasn’t hard. Every time he opened his mouth he managed to piss someone off. “I’m not here for idle chit-chat, Metatron. I’m here to make a deal. Castiel’s grace. Where is it?” Hannah responded, getting to the point, her voice stern.

“Ooh, Hannah. Does Asstiel know you’re here?” Metatron asked, grin widening. He very well knew the answer. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s still wallowing in his loss of the Winchester, am I right?”

Hannah looked down as he said this, before hardening her stance, piercing through Metatron’s gleeful gaze. He seemed to be having too much fun for someone stuck in jail for all of eternity. She cleared her voice “Tell me, Metatron. You have nothing to lose.”

“Freedom.” Metatron said, tilting his head.

“What? You’re in a prison cell. Freedom isn’t something you have.” Hannah said dully.

“No, you angel. That’s what the deal is for. I give you Castiel’s grace, you give me freedom.” Metatron rolled his eyes. This was a long shot but he knew Hannah wouldn’t just let Castiel die. Likely wouldn’t tell him, either.

“I’m not letting you go free. There’s no way I’m letting you leave here.” Hannah frowned. Did he really think that would work?

“So you’re gonna let him die? Now that’s evil” Metatron grinned Hannah would have to let him go if she wanted Castiel’s grace back. He wouldn’t give it up for any less.  
Hanna looked around, contemplating his offer. She couldn’t just let him die, but she couldn’t just let Metatron out. This was so frustrating! “No deal.” She said and walked out without another word. There must be a way.

-

Hannah walked into Castiel’s office, only to be greeted with an empty room. She looked around and called “Castiel?” No answer. She turned to walk out before a groan was heard from behind the desk. Spinning around, Hannah rushed to the source of the noise to find Castiel curled in on himself on the floor. “Castiel!” she shouted, concern lacing her tone.  
“H-Hannah...” Castiel spluttered, coughing sporadically.

Horrified, Hannah rushed to Castiel, Kneeling next to him. She held him on his side and kept his head still to help him breathe. He hadn’t ever been this bad. He was dying, and fast. What could she do? After regaining his breath, Castiel sat up and leaned against the desk, wheezing slightly.

“I’m fine” Castiel mumbled before standing up, using the desk to help keep himself steady. He shooed Hannah away as she grabbed his arm to help.

“You don’t look fine.” Hannah said sternly, frowning. He was incapacitated on the floor barely breathing. How could he be fine?

Castiel rolled his eyes “Humans say that to avoid the truth.” He explained, sighing. He took his arm off the desk and swayed slightly. In order to avoid another scene, he sat down on the chair and tucked himself under the desk, folding his arms in front of him to regain composure as angels came peering in having been drawn to Hannah’s yelling and the increasing commotion.

Castiel motioned them to leave, including Hannah who reluctantly walked out after asking him multiple times if he was OK. Rubbing his eyes, Castiel sighed and leaned back. He vowed to not see Metatron. How could he possibly face the angel who killed Dean without doing something he would regret?

-

Hannah strode into Heaven’s jail, not even trying to hide the worry on her face. She was going to do this and no one was to find out. Castiel had to live no matter what. “Fine.” She announced “It’s a deal. Where is his grace?”

“Hannah!” Metatron answered, grinning “Glad you came to your senses. Not doing well then?” He enquired about Castiel “I’m sensing he still isn’t in the loop.” This got a quizzical look from Hannah “Well? Gonna let me out?”

“Location first.” She demanded, standing her ground.

Metatron shook his head “It doesn’t work that way. You know that. You’re more desperate than I.” He smirked.

Hannah materialised the jail key in her hand and glanced around. She turned the huge skeleton key in the lock and opened the barred gate, watching Metatron closely. Not that he could move much anyway. Her eyes glowed blue as she touched her hand to Metatron’s head.

The next moment they were standing in a drab room on Earth. There was a single door out and furnished only with a lone wooden chair sat alone in the corner. Metatron looked around, catching Hannah’s glare. She stood there waiting, arms folded.

Rolling his eyes, Metatron uttered “Fine.” He sighed “Castiel’s grace is in a library in Bismarck.” This wasn’t as much fun as he’d expected. Given the information, Hannah disappeared without a work, leaving Metatron alone, his arms still bound to his body. “‘Oh yeah, thanks Metatron.’ ‘Don’t mention it Hannah!’” He murmured sarcastically. He looked around again… Great.

-

Appearing in Castiel’s office, Hannah smiled widely at the trenchcoated angel despite him being hunched over the desk wheezing. She walked slowly toward Castiel and put her hand on his shoulder. With sleepy eyes, he looked up at her holding a small glass vial in front of him. His eyes widened. He hadn’t felt it before. How had she…? Before he could ask, Hannah removed the small cork confining the grace. Tipping it, Castiel’s grace made its way back into its owner.

As the last of his grace filled him Castiel’s eyes shone bright blue and he stood up, taking a breath and squaring his shoulders as he spread his tattered wings. A bright light pierced through the office. His whole being shone for a few seconds before fading out to leave Castiel standing upright in the middle of his office, Hannah at his side and a crowd of angels who had again been distracted by the commotion filling the doorway.

“All is well.” Castiel said simply, nodding his head. It was all that was needed. Hannah smiled and ushered the angels from the room, following on afterwards. She figured Castiel would like some space for once, especially now.

Castiel leant back in his chair. He breathed a few times, not that he needed to anymore. Hannah was a miracle worker for sure. He would need to have a word with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is sort of rushed, I would change it but that would mean changing the rest of the fic, so rushed it shall be.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean and Sam had made their way to another bar, sitting opposite each other at a table near the window to the pitch black outside in the corner of the room, the whole place visible. Old habits die hard. “And Crowley just let you walk away… Just like that?” Sam asked, brows furrowed.

“Oh he was shitting his pants.” Dean answered, grinning widely, “I have nothing to gain by killing him… Hell would be in disorder and I’m not interested in ruling that shit pile. I don’t want any suck-ups running to me as if I challenged the throne in what would be a joy kill.” He explained, taking a long drag of his beer.

Sam sighed “You realise he’s not gonna let you go running around after you said that? I wouldn’t be surprised if he were plotting to get rid of you at this very moment. This is Crowley we’re talking about.”

“Well I get the feeling he doesn’t like knowing a demon more powerful than him is out there. Especially if that demon has threatened his life. Dick comes to mind.” Dean chuckled, recalling Crowley’s dislike for the leviathan.

-

A single working lamp in empty car park, lined with bare trees and a dense mist saw the King of Hell appear, standing alone. He looked around in wait until an unmistakable sound of wings came from behind him.

“Crowley…” Came a deep voice following the angel’s arrival.

“Ah, Castiel! You came. Was beginning to think you stood me up.” Crowley answered, turning to face the trench-coated angel, stuffing his hands stuffed in his black coat.

Castiel frowned, squinting his eyes and tilting his head slightly “I… Uh” He shook his head as Crowley’s grin grew. “You called.”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley took a few steps toward Castiel. “I have an issue.”

“You surely remember what happened the last time we worked together.” Castiel sighed.

“Yes. Didn’t end well for either of us, did it?” His grin faltered as Castiel glared daggers at him, beginning to remember the consequences of said deal. “Look. This is about your beloved.”

Castiel all of a sudden became interested, cryptic as the demon was being “Beloved? I don’t have-”

Chuckling from the King cut the angel off “Dean, you moron.” Crowley specified, smiling as the angel’s face contorted to something of an understanding.

Crowley was taken aback by the sudden dark look Castiel gave him “Dean is dead.”

“Not… Quite. You see-”

Crowley was cut off by the nearby light bursting and a faint ringing in his ears. “What have you done?”

Crowley feigned innocence “Whoa there, feathers. What makes you think I’ve done something?” The demon steps back and put his hands up as Castiel took a step toward him “It was all him, Castiel.” Crowley said steadily “I had nothing to do with it. The Mark changed him.”

“How so?” Castiel’s voice deepened further. “Get to the point, Crowley!”

Crowley sighed, looking Castiel directly in the eye “Dean’s a demon.” One side of the demon’s mouth curled into a smirk upon seeing the angel’s eyes soften from frustrated to shocked.

Castiel lunged forward and grabbed Crowley’s coat by the lapels. “How?!” He shouted into the demon’s face.

“Bad breath!” Crowley announced, rolling his eyes. “The _Mark_. As it turns out, the same thing happened to Cain. The Mark wouldn’t let him go. As it happens, being brought back by such a force as that mangles souls.” Castiel’s grip relaxed and his gaze wandered to the ground. It lingered there for a moment before he stepped back and pinned Crowley again with his stare.

“How do we fix this?” Castiel asked. When he had heard Dean was killed by no other than the angel that stole his grace and cast all the angels to Earth, Castiel felt great guilt over his death. Had he found and destroyed the angel tablet in time, Dean would have succeeded in killing Metatron and would have survived.

Hearing this news had Castiel feeling two things – Relieved that Dean was alive in most respects and hopefully wasn’t too far gone to cure – And devastated that the man he plunged headfirst into Hell to drag out from damnation may have fallen too far to be saved.

Crowley huffed “What is it with everyone grabbing me today?” He pulled down and dusted his coat before raising his eyebrows “Well why do you think I called you? The guy’s threatened to kill me already. Figured you’d be able to fix it, given your… ‘relationship’ with the man.”

Castiel stood in silence for a moment “Does Sam know? How’s he taking this?” He asked, figuring if anyone would want to help it would be Dean’s brother.

Smirking, the demon answered “Why don’t you ask him? I would say they were on fine terms. They seem quite the team now, though I could help with getting the Moose on board with us.”

“Sam’s with Dean? And Sam’s fine with this?” Castiel asked in confusion. Since when would Sam be OK with Dean being a demon, one of the monsters they had sworn to hunt and kill?

-

Sam ran his hand through his long hair. He looked at Dean’s absently. Clearly going to the barber’s had not been on the demon’s mind. Though Dean didn’t look half bad with his hair as such. “I wouldn’t recommend stirring up trouble. You said the remaining Abaddon followers are after you. You wanting the King’s followers on your ass too? You gotta be careful, man.”

“Crowley ain’t a problem. He couldn’t kill me, anyway. Know why? Because there’s no way they’re getting their stinking paws on this…” Dean pulled the First Blade from its place tucked into his jeans and placed it onto the table. Hand and gaze never leaving it.

The blade has fooled people. Though demons know by now to steer clear of it, to any human unbeknownst to its past it is simply a badass-looking jawbone. It doesn’t even seem sharp, but it can very easily cut through the armour of an angel. Of course, without the power of the Mark of Cain, the blade is as useless as a butter knife. But in the hands of the newly-minted Knight of Hell it is one of the most powerful weapons in existence.

The look on Dean’s face at any one time he is touching the Blade used to scare Sam shitless. The thought of his brother losing himself in the feelings it brought him, spiralling deeper under the influence of the Mark and chasing down the need to kill burning under his skin. Now, the only thing he worried about was the fact that the Blade and its owner were within arm’s reach, any wrong word could go anywhere, no matter how sure he was that the two of them were on good terms.

Sam leaned back slightly as he eyed the Blade, then looks back up to Dean “Because that’s the one thing that can kill you…” He frowned as Dean didn’t look up “Right?”

Dean let out a grunt of acknowledgement and amusement, his thumb stroking the Blade’s handle. “Right, the only thing that can kill a Knight…” His gaze finally wandered to Sam’s, features thoughtful. “Thing is… I’m not just any old Knight, not like Abaddon. She never had the Mark.” He gave a chilling grin to Sam. Before becoming a demon, the Mark was a curse. A burden. Now he was more powerful than ever, immortal, and he loved it. The internal war no longer inside him. No longer crushing him.

“I see…” Sam muttered thoughtfully. Having a powerful demon brother had its benefits but still, he would feel much better if there was something he could do if Dean turned on him. Except there was. He was a demon and had weaknesses just like the rest of them. Perhaps he couldn’t be killed. But there were ways of keeping him at bay if it came to it.

-

Crowley grinned “Right. Of course there’s a small piece of Moose missing.” Crowley squinted and dropped his head slightly. “…again.”

This, the angel seemed to understand. “What is going on? Where is Sam’s soul, Crowley?!” Castiel’s voice boomed. This was all kinds of messed up. When Castiel first found out that he had left behind the boy’s soul in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer, he was devastated. For all that Sam had done in the past, the demon blood drinking and choosing to trust the demon Ruby over his own brother, this was worse. What he did without his soul shook Castiel. The mindlessly killing innocents with no other purpose but to get the job done, almost killing Bobby Singer purely to stay without a soul, and standing and watching while Dean got beaten bloody and turned into a vampire.

“It’s somewhere I can access it. Calm down.” Crowley rolled his eyes, “So much drama. You agree to help me and I’ll get Sam’s soul back. The whole Moose is probably more helpful.”

Castiel nodded once in understanding. “I take it his soul is in Hell.” He sighed, “Why do you want rid of Dean?”

“Ah now that’s a story. I had a thought in my mind that he would be a help to me as a demon, though he’s proving to be more of a problem than I expected. It was… Fantastic at first, but he’s become distrusting. After threatening me I thought it best if the demon was taken care of.” Crowley silently reminisced the first few weeks of fun and games and killing, the hustling pool and Dean’s constant wins at darts before snapping back to reality.

“You know that if worst comes to worst that means killing him?” Castiel warned him.

“Cure him, kill him, whatever. I’m not sentimental. Just get him off my back.” Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets much like a teenager in a mood.

At this point, the angel was itching to get going. Dean in Hell was one thing, perhaps to one day in a few hundred years come back stripped of all he once was if all attempts to rescue him failed, but for Castiel get his grace back just in time to hear this news was heart-breaking. “I don’t know how you could possibly let this happen. I should just smite you right now.” He huffed.

“Have fun, darling.” Crowley grinned and disappeared. The angel stood in silence for a moment shaking his head and did the same with a flap of his wings. He needed to sort this out as fast as possible. Hannah had already voiced her dislike for the older Winchester after he had jammed that damned blade into Tessa. Had already ordered for Castiel to kill him. Cas reckoned however that as ruler of Heaven he could put Hannah in charge for now. She owed him nothing now she got his grace back.


	4. Chapter 4

In his room in the Men of Letter’s bunker, Sam was idly flicking through a book on demon hierarchy. The fake cover on it reading _The History of Witches vol. 7_. He lay with his back against the headboard and long legs sprawled out on the bed. The sounds of clanging and general noise emanating from the kitchen.

After a few minutes of rubbing his head to relieve him of a quickly forming headache, the rummaging in the kitchen had faded. Sam rolled his eyes and muttered to himself “Jeeze, Dean. What’s up with you?” He jumped as a banging on his door broke the silence, quickly followed by its opening.

Dean stood in the doorway, an annoyed look on his face. “Dude. Where’s the food… And the beer?”

Closing the book and setting it down with haste, Sam replied “Seriously? We don’t need to eat.”

“Would still like the luxury.” Dean mumbled before adding, “I’m getting myself some pie to fill up the fridge. You want something? And don’t say nothing. Just ‘cause you don’t need to eat doesn’t mean you don’t want to, Sammy.”

Sam quickly swung his legs to sit at the side of the bed “You’re not going alone. I’m coming with.” Dean looked offended at this and leaned against the doorway, arms folded. Sam had just then realised Dean hadn’t changed. It’s not like as hunters they have much choice in clothing but it seems that Dean had already started seeing the pointlessness of changing. The red shirt Dean seemed to wear constantly now suited him nicely though, Sam thought. Him and his personality.

“Why’d the hell you come with me? You don’t trust me or something?” Dean’s tone had deepened slightly and he glared at Sam, not expecting an answer he’d be happy with.

“Well…” Sam started, feeling Dean’s green eyes boring into him. “Look. Don’t be like that, I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble.” The edge of Dean’s mouth curled upwards at that. Trouble did seem to follow him around since… Forever. In all honesty he was only intending to get some pie and a couple of six packs of beer, though he was starting to get restless. He continued to stare at his brother, not deeming his answer worthy of a response. Plus, it was amusing to him how Sam struggled to get his thoughts together. “Dean. Let’s be honest with each other-” Sam started.

“Ooh, let’s!” Dean interrupted, frustration creeping into his tone under the amusement.

Sighing, Sam stood up and walked over to Dean who in turn unfolded his arms and leaned off the doorway to face his brother. Sam looked down at him and said in a solid tone “I’m coming with you or you stay here. Your choice.”

Dean huffed a breath “You can’t keep me here.” Sam was beginning to get tired of Dean’s protest. Was it that hard for him to understand that he would bring unwanted attention if his judgement slipped? Before Sam could get another word in, Dean added “Oh and hey! I’ll even get you an ice pack for that bruise.”

“What br-” Sam began but a sharp pain cut of his air supply and he fell back against the foot of his bed with significant force. Blinking, Sam took in a breath and groaned as a pain in his ribcage wouldn’t allow him to breathe in further. Well, he should have seen that coming… He had felt this pain before, that’s not just a bruised rib, that’s a broken one. Dazed, Sam sat slumped on the floor breathing in small, quick breaths. With a hand on his chest, he stood up slowly and shouted “Dean, Damnit?!” No answer. Dean had gone. Sam let out another groan of pain and slid back to the floor.

-

Dean chuckled to himself as he got into the Impala before speeding away from the bunker, the wheels kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel as he did.

The car engine purred as Dean roamed the street, looking for an open bar. Settling on the closest pub to the bunker. He _could_ go and get pie, but by this point he was content with drowning himself in beer and tequila. He parked up and strided in. It was pretty quiet, being early as it was. He ordered his first beer of the afternoon.

It was difficult to get drunk recently. Dean reckoned it was a demon’s metabolism, along with the incredible tolerance he had racked up. Hunter’s helper was the only thing that kept him going for most nights. After a hard hunt, especially when failing to save some poor bastard, he would gladly drown his guilt and self-loathing with whiskey. Hangovers were never so much an issue, the adrenaline of the hunts constantly washing it away. Dean grinned to himself. Gone was the Dean who perpetually beat himself up over every little thing whether he could have helped it or not, and here was the Dean who could kill every single soul in this pub and not feel a damn thing.

He kept the drinking going for a large portion of the afternoon but hadn’t been slacking off. He had ordered a few menu items and got some hot chick’s number, at least. Though he could tell she was well underage, he had no issues. Contemplating to leave after finding no more entertainment, he turned towards the door only to be clapped on the shoulder. A bright, unfamiliar voice came from behind him “Dean Winchester!”

Dean instinctively swung around and grabbed the wrist of a young man, the source of the voice it seemed, his face inches away from the stranger who tried and failed to twist his arm from the demon’s grip. Dean stared him down for a few seconds, the room quietening slightly as the closest heads turn towards them.

“Woah, calm down fella.” The man said shakily and cleared his throat, glancing down to where Dean was clenching his fist, then back up to his eyes “Well you don’t know me but I’ve heard of you. Was gon’ buy yer a beer or somethin’, but you seem to have had enough…”

Dean grunted in somewhat of amusement. By the posture and general attitude of the kid he was a hunter, an inexperienced one. Not in any way a danger since he clearly had no idea who, or rather what, he was up against here. His grip loosened and Dean nodded, softening his features. “Sorry pal, gotta stay sharp you know what I’m saying?” He replied, gesturing to the no doubt bruised wrist and internally rolling his eyes. Of course Dean would get stuck chatting to some newbie hunter. He thought for a few moments while the young man in front of him rubbed his wrist, if he was gonna be bored to death making light conversation he might as well get something out of it. “You know what? I shall take you up on that beer, thanks. I’m good.”

“You sure?” the hunter asked sceptically, eyeing Dean warily. He backtracked on that question at the look the Winchester gave him. “Name’s Joe by the by. Never thought I’d meet you, Dean Winchester.” He smiled warmly. Apparently the guy was dumber than he looked. “You’ve got quite the rep.” He commended, a hand outstretched.

The old Dean would have felt a tremendous burden come over him at the man’s name. Jo Harvelle, the woman who turned Dean down the night she bled out from the wound of a hellhound, her body blown to pieces alongside her mother’s. As it happened, Dean simply smirked at the thought of ever loving someone, finally unable to feel the sort. He returned the handshake, mustering up a classic Dean smile.

They both trailed to the bar while Joe added with a chuckle “You’re mighty stronger’n I imagined.” Suck-up. “Well, then again I guess you gotta be. All the stuff you’ve hunted.” Dean didn’t say a word as they got to the bar and Joe ordered drinks. He gave the man another once-over and grinned to himself. This ‘Joe’ clearly took pride in his work, not the kind of guy to start a fight, and had an unhealthy admiration for Dean. Well that’s too bad.

-

Sam had called Dean in a vain attempt to track him down or at least get a hold of him, to know how much trouble he’s causing for them. He really hoped Dean was telling the truth about the ice, a cold compress would be heaven right now. Having suffered multiple broken ribs in the past didn’t make it any less painful. He got to work setting up precautions. Knowing Dean, he would be back to the bunker at some point. Unlike Sam, Dean was quite sentimental, demon or not.

After finishing his work, Sam grinned and made his way to the library. Nothing wrong with passing time reading up on some lore. Even soulless, Sam took a mild pleasure in reading, the same as with hunting. It was just the how that changed. He read more like a machine now, taking in each bit of information and storing it for use in hunts. And hunting was more-or-less kill the target, disregarding innocents.

A few moments into reading however, a whoosh of air blew some pages over, distracting him from his research. He looked up and at the sight of the familiar angel he stood up, painting a distraught look on his face “Cas! Been a long time.” He said, forced enthusiasm lacing his tone. He was so used to acting by now his lies would have been taken as true to any normal person.

“Save it. Where’s Dean?” Castiel said impatiently. Sam felt taken aback, but of course Dean had to come before anything else with this angel. He snorted, why would Castiel think Dean anything other than dead?

Sam again got into character. “I burned his body, Cas…” he replied in a sorrowful tone. By the way the angel’s stare bored into him, Sam realised Castiel knew exactly what’s going on. Sam grinned “Haha, alright alright. Calm down. He’s not here, not right now. He’ll be back soon.”

Castiel’s face contorted to frown in anger, “I get that you two are OK with this arrangement, but you seriously let _that_ out onto the streets?!” He shouted in his low tone. He stepped towards the younger Winchester and stared up into his hazel eyes. “Yet again without a soul…” Castiel murmured and shook his head.

Sam chuckled in response “I didn’t just let him go. He gave me no choice” Sam lifted his shirt up to reveal blackened skin. He winced as the angel stepped into his space and pressed his hand to his chest. A bright light erupted from said hand as the bruise slowly receded and the rib snapped painfully back into place. Sam lowered his shirt back down and shrugged, “What can I say, he was gone before I could stop him.” Sam rolled his eyes as the angel clearly didn’t approve of his answer. “He’s just in this for himself. I still count hunting as a job. He just does it for the sheer pleasure and otherwise does nothing but drink and lounge around.” He continued in a soft tone.

“He’s going to be an even bigger problem if we just let him wander around on his own! Demon or not, the Mark still affects him. When it comes around to it, he will no longer care who he kills, as long as the Mark is sated.” Castiel sighed. “You have to help us stop him.”

Sam frowned “ _Us_?” He asked sceptically

“Crowley…” Castiel started, allowing Sam to roll his eyes. “He feels the demon is a threat to him. He wants rid.”

“Right…” Sam replied, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment in thought. “Well killing him is going to be an issue. He doesn’t even think the First Blade can kill him. Even if it could, he keeps the Blade on him at all times. He would never allow us to take it.”

Castiel looked at Sam with something akin to horror “Don’t you remember how he came to be a demon in the first place?! No way would I let you kill him. That’s a last resort!” Castiel slowed down his speech as Sam looked at him strangely. “You seriously can’t want your brother dead, can you?” He settled with.

Sam shrugged “I’m a hunter. It’s what I do.”

“We are getting your soul back, things can’t go on like this, Sam, you…” Castiel paused and let everything wash over him. “Alright. First we’ll wait for him. How long will he be?”

Sam held off his protests on getting his soul back. He’d deal with that when it came to it. “I don’t know, Cas. But believe me when he does he’ll let us know…” Sam grinned to himself as Castiel looked at him with a frown.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're over halfway through the fic! And please, any thoughts you have, why not take the small amount of time is takes to write them in the comments?

Dean and Joe had been sitting talking for a long while. Joe had been recounting the hunts he had been on since he was introduced to the world of the supernatural. Dean had been right. Joe was in fact relatively new to hunting, much to the chagrin of his pregnant girlfriend. The demon found that after a few beers, the hunter got very talkative. He was glad of the fact that Joe steered clear of the topic of demons past the mention of his sister being killed by one.

As they drank, Joe often went off-topic, talking in detail of his life story while his words slurred together more and more. He sucked up to Dean a lot considering he wouldn’t let him get a word in, complementing on the endeavours of the older Winchester and his strength and intuition. To anyone hearing the conversation out of context, it would seem Joe was into him. Dean would have to cut this guy loose soon.

Joe had begun asking Dean what new horrors he was facing where Dean entertained the idea of telling him the truth. ‘ _Oh, not much. Just got killed by an angel with a God complex and got resurrected as a demon…_ ’ The guy would most likely laugh and count it as a sarcastic comment, but Dean decided against it.

They must’ve been getting a little loud as the pair were approached by a large muscled guy, slightly shorter than Sam. He stepped up to them and said in a gruff voice “I think you guys have had enough.” Clearly not at all intimidated by the two.

Dean turned to the guy, a scowl on his face. Joe weakly rolled his head on his shoulder to watch them. Before Joe could say anything about leaving, Dean got off of his seat with minimum faults (perhaps he was a little drunk…) and looked up at the man “We ain’t hurting anyone. Why don’t you leave us alone?”

“You ‘ain’t hurting anyone’ _yet_ ” the balding man added. The amount of people, no matter how innocent, who start a fight from nothing when drunk out of their minds was incredible. The two men sat up at the bar had been pretty loud and rowdy and had been starting to scare people. “It would be better for everyone if you just leave, no trouble.”

Clearing his throat, Dean got ready to protest when Joe stumbled from his chair and cut him off “He’s right, De’, we should get outta here.” Joe slurred, patting Dean on the shoulder. Dean glared at the man for a few seconds, contemplating breaking his jaw. The Mark seemed to like the idea, humming softly on his arm. However, before he could raise his fist, Joe pushed him towards the door. Dean gave in with a growl and left, shouldering anyone who was in his path with Joe stumbling after him.

After they got outside Dean glanced back, his jaw clenched. That guy deserved at the very least a fist to the face. Joe _giggled_ and gave Dean a pat on the back “Awesome seein’ ye, Dean Winchester.” He smiled widely and stumbled off.

“Bye then.” Dean murmured, rolling his eyes. Weirdo. Dean blinked through blurry eyes and made his way to the Impala. He reckoned going back to the bunker to sober up would be best, grinning with the thought of Sam’s pissed-off bitchface to go back to.

-

Castiel and Sam sat opposing each other on one of the tables in the library. Only the small lamps illuminating the table, the rest of the room cast in darkness. Many a book were sprawled over the length of the table.

As Castiel finished his twenty-third book and turned to put it back on the shelf, the sound of the bunker door slamming shut echoed throughout. Sam looked up at Castiel, and then to the pitch blackness of the other room. A groaning figure stumbled down the stairs to the war room. Dean stopped in his tracks “Sonof’Bitch, Sammy. I can’t see a damn thing. Turn some lights on!”

Sam strolled to the wall to turn the lights on. The backlight from the table illuminated Dean’s face, followed by the main chandelier lights. “Help me out here, ‘ammy. What the hell’d I walk into?”  Dean asked, apparently oblivious to the bright red devil’s trap painted under his feet or to the angel who stood, staring in shock at him. Castiel’s shock turned to horror, the full realisation of the mess he’s in hitting him. Never in a millennia did he think Dean Winchester could be so… unsettling.

All thoughts cut off when Sam burst into laughter. “Thank _Christo_ you’re alright, Dean.” He said, grinning widely as Dean gave a full-body shiver. “You walked straight into a trap, idiot.” Sam watched as Dean’s features went quickly from annoyance to anger and he glared at his brother, his eyes black as night.

His glare didn’t hold however, as his attention was drawn to the _thing_ stood in the library. Fear gripped his whole being, his throat tightening. “S-Sam get me outta this trap! Now!” Dean shouted, black eyes pinned to the sight of Castiel’s true visage. Talk about sobering up. Dean was frozen, practically shaking on the spot.

Sam watched as Dean’s whole demeanour changed. He looked at the angel with a raised eyebrow. Castiel’s expression had barely changed from shock. Of course, Castiel had seen many a demon before, but never like this. The brightest soul he ever laid eyes on… Changed, twisted, mangled from someone he used to know. Dean Winchester, the Soldier of Heaven turned Knight of Hell. Castiel understood the demon’s reaction. He was his first. His first glimpse of an angel.

Smirking, Sam turned back to Dean “Why, ‘cause of Cas? He’s not gonna do anything to you. He’s completely against killing you. I haven’t got a clue why.” He joked, gaining Dean’s attention.

“What is Castiel doing here?” Dean asked, willing himself to calm down and his eyes to flicker back to green. He didn’t allow Sam time to answer before he continued with a growl “And let me outta here! The hell’d you think you’re doing? Trapping me when there’s a friggin’ _angel_ in the place?!”

Sam grinned and turned to Castiel, who had also managed to calm himself to his usual neutral expression. “What do you think, Cas? Let the demon roam around the bunker. You OK with that? I promise he won’t kill you” Sam assured “I got plenty of salt and holy water.”

Dean scowled. He wouldn’t go near Cas anyway, not for the moment. Although he knew the angel couldn’t possibly rival a Knight, Castiel’s true form was enough to keep him away for now. “Don’t bother, Sammy. I ain’t going anywhere near him. No friggin’ way.” He said, tone low.

Rolling his eyes, the younger Winchester flipped open a knife and scraped the outer ring of the devil’s trap, from which Dean side-stepped. He walked through the library along the opposite side to Castiel, casting a few glances back at the angel. Sure enough Castiel didn’t take eyes off of him until he was around the corner.

“That went well.” Sam chuckled, watching Castiel frown.

“How did that go well, Sam? He’s a demon, a powerful one at that. Heaven isn’t going to allow me to stay here to cure him. Hannah can take care of it for now, but the angels can’t find me hanging around with this demon. You know Hannah didn’t even like him _before_ , let alone as he is now.” Castiel explained in earnest.

“Sarcasm, Cas…” Sam mumbled, rolling his eyes. “Well you can do business up in Heaven. But if all else fails I may have to kill Dean… You’re the only one wanting to save him.” Sam smirked. It’ll be much easier with an angel by his side, to keep Dean in check. Though Castiel has been avoiding calling the demon by his name, the angel still has a bond with him. He’s got motive enough.

Castile sighed “Alright… I will stay, but this has to stay from Hannah and the other angels. If she hears about this, she’ll be less than pleased.”

“No kidding” Sam mumbled.

“I am not kidding, no.” Castiel replied, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

As Sam walked out of the room, he shouted “Sarcasm, Cas!” in response.

Cas nodded. “Ah.” He said quietly to himself. Upon being left alone, Cas sat back at the table and tried to relax himself. The man he raised from Hell all those years ago has become something so unholy. Dean once was destined for greatness. To be the true vessel to Michael, and spend the rest of eternity in paradise. And this is what has become of him. He was supposed to serve Heaven, not Hell. Even so, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to kill him, to hate him, to be disgusted by. He just couldn’t.

-

Sam followed Dean to his room but was greeted to a door slammed in his face. “Dean, for Christo’s sake!” He smirked and waited. Not moments later, the door swung open and a solid fist made contact with his jaw. The sheer force sent him into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. Groaning, Sam cupped his face while blood pooled into his mouth. He spat off to the side and again, the door was slammed.

Dean had had enough of Sam’s teasing. He’ll soon begin to understand that if he kept saying _that_ in front of him, he will deeply regret it. It most likely won’t stop him completely but he would do it less, he hoped. Though with an angel around he could get healed no problem, no matter how much Dean did to him.

Dean groaned as he kicked his shoes off and fell back onto his memory foam, closing his eyes. His hand moved to his back to pull the First Blade from his jeans. He gripped it tight and let out a breath, the warmth of the power thrumming through his veins giving him peace of mind. He lay on the bed staring at the ceiling with black eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More action coming up... Much more. Seriously, I dunno how it came to be but I love it! Stay tuned.  
> I'm also in the process of writing the second part of the series. I want to know which you guys want first. Y'all like Destiel or not? ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling generous. Have an early chapter :)

Dean had fallen asleep somehow through the morning to the afternoon. He was woken by none other than the Mark searing on his arm. Jolting awake, Dean relinquished his grasp of the Blade and clasped his other hand over the Mark with a groan. Tucking the Blade into his jeans once more, he rolled unceremoniously off the bed and made his way to the door. Running a hand through his hair, he swung open his door violently and started for the kitchen. Mostly there he stopped and swung around, changing course for the library. Of course. No pie.

Sam and Castiel had again spent the morning researching. So far, the only plan they had come up with was the human blood cure that was attempted on Crowley to complete the trials to seal the gates of Hell. There was nothing in the Men of Letter’s notes to say that the ritual worked on Knights, let alone on one with the Mark of Cain. They agreed it was worth a try. The rest of their research was fruitless.

Dean still found it bracing to see Castiel, but managed to stand his ground as he made his way into the room where he and his brother were sat reading. “Sammy, seriously. Reading at this time?” Dean asked loudly, announcing his presence. Castiel already knew he was there but Sam looked up from his book, frankly surprised Dean was on his feet.

“It’s the afternoon. And I don’t sleep.” Sam murmured before frowning “Dude, neither do you. How’ve you been sleeping?” Sam asked, casting a glance to Castiel, who still hadn’t looked up from the book in front of him.

Dean huffed and cleared his throat “Not much else I could do; I was already drunk out of my mind. Just because I don’t need to sleep doesn’t mean I can’t, Sammy.” Dean assured him. Truthfully, it bugged him how easily he had fallen asleep. He couldn’t let his guard down, not when an angel is sharing the bunker with them. He knew they were up to something, too. Couldn’t let them trap him again when they’ve been researching up on demons all night.

Bringing his arm up to stroke a thumb over the Mark of Cain, Dean swallowed and waited for Sam’s attention to wander before walking around the table towards the door.

“Hey, _hey_! Where do you think you’re going?” Sam frowned, standing up. “You’re not going out. Not after what happened last night.”

Dean looked at Cas as Sam said this. Of course he patched him up. He looked back at his brother. “I’m not a child, Sam. I’m going out.” He rolled his eyes and turned again to leave.

Castiel hadn’t said a thing since Dean walked in. Sam was frustrated he didn’t back him up or anything. Just sat there, staring at a book. He seemed uncomfortable talking when Dean was around. Sam figured that it was still weird for him to see Dean like this. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and followed Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving. “Dean!”

Dean growled and turned to face his brother, the Mark humming. “Sammy, you should know better. I could gut you right now. With great ease, you hear me?” Dean warned. His arm had wandered behind him as his hand gripped the handle of the First Blade at his back, his eyes black and the Mark glowing. Sam took his hand away and stepped back, knowing he had pushed Dean too far.

Castiel looked up from his book to keep tabs on the situation. Feeling the angel’s eyes on him, Dean blinked his eyes back to green and averted his gaze from Sam to the angel who was now standing glaring at him. The demon slowly released his grip on the blade and instead curled the hand into a fist at his side.

Dean failed to keep his eyes on Cas, so settled again for looking at his brother. “Don’t smite me for it. Calm down.” He rolled his eyes. “Since I’m not allowed to go out alone, can you at least find us a case? You can’t keep me locked in here forever.” He grumbled. If he knew how, he could easily zap out of there and they wouldn’t even know he was gone.

“You gonna let me find one, then? Patience, Dean.” Sam said, rolling his eyes. He walked over to his laptop sat on the table and opened it up. He began typing as he sat down, searching the local news and the usual _un_ usual websites for any red flags. Dean followed and stood unmoving from a spot behind his brother as he breathed deeply. He hated to admit it but some of what Crowley said was true. Without demons being sent his way he had waited too long and the Mark needed him to kill. The more time Sam took browse through reports, the hotter the Mark burned and the more heat surged through his body.

Dean became quite out of it, and Castiel’s eyes on him went unnoticed. “I think this is a bad idea.” Castiel said, finally speaking up. Sam looked up at him, but Dean’s gaze was fixed to the table.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes “Listen, Cas. You might get out alive, but he can easily hack me to pieces.” This seemed to distract Dean from his trance and he paused to think that over, much to the Mark’s delight. Yeah he probably would, though not in front of the angel. No friggin’ way. “He can go on one hunt. He hasn’t killed anything other than demons, Cas.” Sam admitted.

Dean grunted. “I’m right here. Stop talking about me as if I’m not.” He said, rolling his eyes, and sat down next to his brother.

 “It would be a good opportunity for you to go and sort things out in Heaven, too. Hannah could do with your help.” Sam continued, hoping it was reason enough for Castiel to give Dean space although he knew where he was coming from. The demon was itching, and it wasn’t safe for him to roam around alone.

Mention of Hannah had Dean’s hackles raised. His eyes flashed black and he leaned forward, hands gripping the table. She was the one who had ordered Castiel to kill him and he was _working_ with the bitch? Sam startled a little and shared a glance with Cas before they turned their attention to the demon. Catching the angel’s eye, Dean leant back and his eyes flickered back to green. He traded glances with Sam then, before slumping into the chair further. He needed to sort out this problem he had with angels.

Dean worried Castiel. He was on edge and the mere mention of Hannah had him thirsting for her death. The angel could feel the power radiating from Dean, and it was getting worse the longer they sat there. Avoiding angels or not, the demon was out for blood and Castiel vowed it would not be his. “I still think it’s a bad idea…” Castiel looked at Dean, who had since been keeping quiet and watching Sam’s laptop. “But you’re right, I should ‘ _check in_ ’ with Heaven.” Castiel said before disappearing with a flap of wings.

Sam sighed and turned the laptop to face Dean “Any one of these could be a case. They all seem to be within a four-or-so hour drive.” He explained. Dean just grunted in response, eyes scanning the list of reports. “Hey, focus!” Sam shouted, clicking his fingers. Dean’s mind seemed to be wandering elsewhere. This was infuriating Sam. Not only did he have to find a case conveniently close to them to sate this demon’s bloodlust, he had to sit in the Impala with said demon for hours and try not to get himself killed in the process.

After a few moments thought and Dean staring unblinkingly at the screen, Sam groaned and chose a case himself. Three victims devoid of blood, sets of puncture wounds in their broken necks. Vamp. And there’s always gonna be a nest nearby so multiple targets. Perfect. “3 hours. That OK for you?” Sam said as he closed the laptop. Dean startled as Sam stood up, apparently a little jittery. “Vamps draining university students.”

“Yeah? Sounds fine.” Dean said, standing up. “Can’t wait to chop a few heads!” He grinned up at his brother who ultimately grinned back. Sam was eager enough to go on a hunt too. Seemed more normal that way. For a moment they shared something, brief as it was. Sam was relieved that Dean was on the same page. Although in reality, Sam wanted to kill a few vamps, Dean _needed_ to kill. Sam ignored this thought in favour of grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and heading to the door, demon in tow.

Dean stopped in his tracks as they walked through the war room and looked down “Oh, Sammy. I wasn’t born yesterday.” He mocked. The devil’s trap from before had been repaired. Shuffling around it, Dean followed his brother up the stairs and contemplated ways to get him back for putting the trap there in the first place. Oh Sammy, you started this. The Winchesters headed out of the bunker, both with grins on their faces.

-

Finally, Castiel reappeared in his office. Hannah had been worried about his sudden disappearance since he got his grace back. She could tell that he had been on Earth the past few days but where and why was a complete mystery to her. She would have allowed it without question if the Winchester still lived, he felt a duty to the Winchesters. But since he was gone, Castiel had no reason to be there that long. He had a duty only to Heaven.

“Where have you been?” Hannah asked, not allowing Castiel a chance to explain himself first. She would have been furious if it were any other angel.

Castiel sighed. He thought he would at least get a few moments of peace before being hammered with questions. Moving to stand in front of Hannah, he put his hands on her shoulders. The smaller angel shifted uncomfortably a moment before he spoke “There’s an issue with… a demon.” He said, closing his eyes and sighing again. He had to get over it. The demon’s name had to be conquered at some point. “It’s Dean.”

Hannah pulled away, confusion and anger lighting up her face. It’s one thing to leave unannounced to meet with the Righteous Man, but him as a _demon_? How was that even possible? “Metatron killed him… he practically announced it to all of Heaven!” Hannah hoped that it was all some sort of crazy lie, horrified at the thought of the leader of Heaven hanging around with a demon.

Mentioning Crowley at this point was not the best tactic, so he avoided talking about the King and instead defended himself. “It’s the Mark… The Mark of Cain… It won’t allow him to die. And… I mean you saw him. How it changed him. The Dean you ordered me to execute isn’t the real Dean… It wasn’t who he was. Please understand.” Castiel knew he sounded desperate; he was.

Looking in horror at the temporary leader of Heaven, Hannah let out a noise of disgust “If that’s what he was like _human_ with the Mark… It must be a massacre down there... and you just left him there! You didn’t rid of him?!”

“Hannah don’t do that. I need to fix this. Abaddon was hard enough to take down but this is the Mark of Cain we’re talking about. I don’t think we _can_ kill him… Even if I wanted to. He’s immortal.” Castiel explained, hoping to calm her down. She had serious hate for the older Winchester, and he wouldn’t allow that to get in the way. He didn’t before. Dean explained about Tessa, how she impaled herself on the blade. Castiel knew they had history, knew that Dean would have never killed her. Hannah’s decision to order Castiel to kill him was on her and her poor judgement. Castiel couldn’t even bring himself to blame Dean for anything right now.

Hannah seemed to be imitating a goldfish for a moment, unsure how to respond before Castiel replaced his hands on Hannah’s shoulders. “Look. You don’t have to like it but I have help. I’m going to sort it. I just thought you deserve to know what I’m doing on Earth, not that I’m trying to involve you.” He continued, eyes soft.

“Help? From whom?”

Seriously that’s the first thing she questions? Castiel wanted to avoid telling her but since he _did_ say he would let her know what he’s doing “Sam Winchester and… Crowley.” Though a Knight is more bad news than the King, he knew the angels would be sceptical. The last deal he made with Crowley ended up with dear old power-hungry Cas killing hundreds of their own brothers and sisters.

Snorting, Hannah stood back, hands falling to Castiel’s sides. “The King of Hell. You’re serious.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question. Her keeping the deal with Metatron secret was big, but this news was hard to react to. It may be the only way.

“Yeah. I’m going to need all the help I can get. Crowley shall be useful.” Castiel paused and looked around the room, seemingly avoiding the inevitable. “I did come for a reason, though… I have to talk with the scribe.” He gets out uneasily. Dean’s no longer dead, but it doesn’t negate the fact that Metatron _killed_ Dean.

Hannah swallows, her throat suddenly dry. She assumed that Castiel would sooner tear his feathers out one by one than see Metatron’s face again; based her whole deal on that assumption. Now what could she do? She looked up at the angel. Though she did her best to keep any guilt from her expression, Castiel immediately could tell. His eyes darkened and he dipped his head, tone deepening in his anger. “What have you done?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little longer. Enjoy!

Dean grinned to himself as he agreed to ordering a king room - since the motel receptionist mistook them for lovers like so many others before her – while he took in Sam’s horrified expression from the corner of his vision. Sam knew that he would lose if he protested, but jabbed Dean as they took the key and left. “Come on Sammy, you know you would totally tap this if we weren’t bros.” Dean said with a signature grin and wink. Sam groaned dramatically and brushed off the comment as they made their way to the room.

Fantastic. Another disgusting motel room. Certainly didn’t miss this. It wasn’t the worst place they had ever stayed, however now at least they didn’t have to _sleep_ in it, as drowsy as Dean seemed to get sometimes. Dean screwed his face at the room, and the brothers exchanged a look. The bed was haphazardly done and there was a single broken clock on the bare wall and the only light source being a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, wires frayed.

“Great.” Dean mumbled sarcastically and strode into the room. He threw his duffel on the bed and pulled out one of the chairs tucked under the round table in the middle of the room.

Sam huffed and sat opposite him, getting his laptop and placing it on the table. “It really is a good job neither of us sleep.” Sam mused. He was cranky, however. Anyone would be after sitting in a confined space, riding shotgun for three hours next to a demon with an itchy trigger finger. It didn’t help that the motel room looked like the result of a nuclear bomb. He was hoping the job wouldn’t take too long. Dean was again already making him uncomfortable. He was staring at the laptop screen, one hand drumming on the table, the other curled into a fist and his leg bouncing. Seems he might be a candidate for restless leg syndrome. The sooner they finished the hunt the better.

After a grand total of ten minutes, Dean had huffed and left to drive back to the Gas ’n’ Sip they passed on the way here for a six pack. When Dean left, there was a distinct lack of heavy air in the room and Sam could relax properly into his research.

After just a few moments, Sam frowned and went to the window to confirm his instincts. Shit! He shut the laptop hurriedly and rushed out the door. The Impala was still parked outside. He better be preying on some murderer he just saw gut somebody. Sam checked the people who checked them in and the rooms he passes as he strides his way out of the motel carpark looking for his brother. He couldn’t have gone far. Sam gave a sigh and called Dean. It only took a few seconds for Dean to pick up, and that surprised him “Dude, where the hell are you?!”

There was silence on the other end for a second, Sam could practically _hear_ Dean’s smirk down the phone line “Aw, you’re worried about me.” He chuckled “Calm down, Sammy. I can take care of myself.” Dean winked, though Sam couldn’t see it.

He wasn’t wrong, but he knew full well that it wasn’t what Sam meant. “What have you done? And _please_ tell me you haven’t killed anybody.” He said, voice low and serious.

“Woah, woah! Your mind immediately jumps to murder. What brought this on, huh?” Dean asked. Sam could picture him, hand to his chest feigning offense, his face twisted in that grin in contrast. Sam pursed his lips in response. He figured that if he could read Dean down the phone, Dean could read his bitchface. “Seriously. I went to go get drunk, and I happened to come across a lead!” He sounded far too happy for Sam’s liking. “I’m following up just now, actually…” His voice trails off and silence falls on the end of the line.

“Dean!” Sam shouted “Oh for the love of-”

“You _dare_.” Dean threatened darkly, just a whisper, and hung up. Sam chuckled humourlessly and put his phone in his jeans pocket. If Dean had gone to a bar, it would be easy to track him. He wasn’t gone long so all he would have to do is find the nearest pub and follow the path of destruction. Perfect.

-

Having hung up on Sam, Dean let out a breath. He was following a hot university student who he had been chatting up at the bar. So far, two of her mates had gone missing. He figured she was the next likely target and followed her from the bar. She hadn’t noticed as he blended pretty well in the shadows of the backroads, not to mention his years of tailing people gave him an edge.

He felt the urge to kill well up within him but pushed it down in favour of catching the vamps in action to follow and kill them. If he killed this girl, the vamps would likely be scared off and he could do with more than a single easy kill. It wouldn’t help that he would have to deal with the chance of being caught with the trouble of a screaming girl drawing attention.

The sound of the scream she would make reverberated through his head and the Mark seared on his arm. He began to step forward to make his move before a guy jumped at her. Before she could scream, the man tackled her easily to the ground and snapped her neck in one sweeping move. Dean stood and watched, holding back a noise as lips connected to the dead girl’s neck. The vamp knelt beside her corpse and set to draining her, fangs buried deep. In that moment, memories of the time Dean spent as one of them were pushed to the forefront of his mind. The extreme bloodlust he felt was in the end never satisfied before he was cured, and right now all he could think about was the red coppery substance on his tongue that he had denied.

A hot pain shot through his body, and his eyes flashed black. He had felt this pain before when Sam and Cas had locked him in the bunker dungeon. Crowley cleared that up for him when he was summoned, explaining that the Mark needed him to kill and he would cough his guts up if he denied it, but he also said it was because his human form was too weak to store the Mark’s power. What was more powerful than a Knight? How could he still be too weak?

Dean doubled over with a groan, gaining the attention of the vampire. He looked up from his meal and surveyed the area, settling his gaze on the demon. Said demon was hacking blood violently, one arm held tightly to his stomach and one on the alley wall, holding himself up shakily. He grabbed Dean by his shoulder and pulled him to his feet, smashing him into the alley wall. “What might you be doing here?” The vamp asked with a snarl, fangs unsheathed menacingly as he looked him up and down. There was blood dripping from the corners of his mouth and his legs could barely keep him up, the only thing doing so being the vampire’s superhuman grip.

Dean thought over his options as he allowed himself to be dragged and pinned up to the wall, keeping himself mostly limp. This was as good a plan as ever to find the nest; play weak (well, _weaker_ ) and unleash pain on them they can’t even imagine. He raised his now green eyes to the vamp’s brown ones for a moment before he fell completely limp and let his eyelids slide shut. He felt himself slide down the wall and hit the alley floor as the vampire’s grip lessened. Acutely aware of being dragged down the alley, he anticipated waking up in the nest prepared for a slaughter-fest.

-

Sam had come across a decent bar a few seconds from leaving the motel, just across the street. The bartender told him about some creep who was flirting with a girl who seemed way too young for him. It was pretty obviously Dean, though the only other information he could siphon from the people in the bar was that she seemed upset about something and the dude who was with her was a total asshole. A couple of the guys who were there when they left could tell him which way they took off, so that’s the direction Sam headed.

It was getting much darker by this point and Sam became much more aware of the passage of time. He had to be more careful the darker it got, the vamps could well be nearby or worse; Dean could. He had a sawed-off just in case, and his machete tucked in a holster on his hip.

After a few minutes of wandering, gaze locking onto anything that moved, Sam noticed the pale body of a girl strewn over the pavement. He glanced around the silent alleyway. Other than the body, the only other thing out of place was a puddle of blood some way away and signs of a body having been dragged away from that spot. As the coast seemed clear, Sam checked the body for cause of death. She had clearly dies from a broken neck, and the vampire had fed, though he couldn’t be sure if he vampire had killed her or if Dean had. He hadn’t the chance to check the coroner’s reports, so he had nothing to go on.

-

Dean waited to be tied up before he even thought about opening his eyes. Metal cuffs bound his hands behind his back and ropes bound him to what Dean assumed to be the legs of the chair he’s been thrown onto. Amateurs. He resisted the urge to smirk as he felt the hard lines of the First Blade digging into him. Had these vamps even kidnapped someone before? They really did suck at it. After a few minutes of silence in the room, he groaned and blinked his eyes open.

Well this was new. He was kind of expecting a usual nest, a musky barn or abandoned warehouse somewhere. This was more like what the Alpha had, a large room furnished with a fancy glass cabinet in the corner and expensive-looking flowery armchairs which matched the wallpaper in design. A small but intricate chandelier hung above his head, turned off of course, and from the fact the windows were blacked out he couldn’t tell how much time has passed. The only light source was from the hall and it’s reflection in the cabinet glass. Dean could just about make out two figures standing on guard. He grinned to himself and called out. “Heya, fellas.”

One of the men guarding the door walked in. He was the same height as Dean with a short beard and black shoulder-length hair. He wore a fancy suit, very clearly expensive. He scanned the man tied in front of him, pushing his glasses further up his nose as a shorter man walked in behind him. In contrast, he had short brown hair and was significantly smaller, donning ripped jeans and a V-neck shirt. Dean recognised him as the vamp from the alley. He huffed and ignored the room, seeming to take a keen interest in the empty cabinet.

“So he wakes.” The vamp in front of Dean states, staring down the demon.

“Yeah I’m awake, never wasn’t.” He responded, grinning wildly “You know, I would love to stay and chat but I’m only here for one reason.” He said boldly, staring the vampire in his eye, confident and defiant as he always has been.

The vampire in the corner huffed again. “I don’t think you quite understand.” He mocked. “We want you to work for us. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human…” Dean smirked “We just wanna make you stronger, friend.”

“My partner’s right.” The other confirmed, leaning forward into Dean’s space. “We just want to help you. And in return, you help us.” He said, humming in agreement with himself.

Dean smiled and let his head nod forward for a moment, resisting the urge to cough rising in his chest, before rolling it on his shoulder as he lifted it back up to face the vampire with a grin. “Sorry, pal. I ain’t your friend. Been there, done that. Honestly, I think I’m better off how I am right now. I really wouldn’t trade this for bottom-feeders like you lot.” He all but spat at the vampire. “Earlier… Well let’s just say that was me anticipating gutting you lot.”

The vampires looked at each other with a mix of amusement and confusion. They must think he’s mad. Well, they won’t expect this coming. Dean put on a shit-eating grin and pulled his hands apart, the chain on the cuffs snapping with ease. All at once, all Dean could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears as the all-consuming warmth emanating from the Mark on his arm filled him with power to kill anything.

The two vampires backed off in shock. The order to restrain the demon was lost in the suited vamp’s throat as Dean ripped the chair from underneath himself to slam it into the vamp. Dean laughed darkly. “You really caught the wrong guy.” His eyes became dark pools as the room became filled with vampires, baring their sets of teeth. Ripping the Blade from behind him increased the feelings tenfold, all he could see was red.

Nothing compared to the pleasure the Mark rewarded Dean when he gave in to its wishes, it was addictive. The highest high. Dean revelled in the anticipation for a moment longer before he lunged into the crowd of vampires surrounding him.

They were oblivious to the Blade’s ability to kill them without need to behead them, the surprise on the faces just spurred Dean on more as he buried the blade in the chest of their leader. The first few vampires gave Dean more than a couple of bites, mainly targeted at his neck and wrists, though they were quickly and brutally cut down one by one, and in the end Dean had not a scratch on him, healing as quick as the wounds came. Any and all blood covering Dean was not his own, and he relished in that fact.

As he made his way over the mess of bodies in the room he was tied up in, he made sure to decorate the sickening flowery wallpaper with spatters of blood of the vampires that charged him. He didn’t know when he began laughing manically. He kicked down every door he came across, and mercilessly killed any vampire, whether they came at him or cowered from him. For a while they seemed infinite in number as he slaughtered every last one.

He idly thought about the size of the house, how it must be some sort of mansion. The odd vampire was left mutilated and gasping for air, but Dean left them to suffer and die slowly. The house was left in an eerie silence. “Anybody home?” Dean mocked, turning his head to any noise. Not seeming to be anything living, Dean shrugged and turned to walk out, only to be greeted with a chest full of rock salt.

-

Sam followed the marks of a body having been dragged along the floor. What the hell went down here? The trail led to the side of the road at the other side of the alleyway. Dean didn’t have the impala, so what car had he stolen? Or better yet, where was Dean going and what was he doing? Sam rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Well if Dean was following a lead, he may be at the nest. With a sigh, Sam took off for the motel to pick up the Impala in hopes of finding Dean in the half of the town where the skid marks led. He had been researching abandoned places in the town as candidates for a nest, and from what he could find, on the one side of the town the only abandoned place a vampire would likely choose is an abandoned sawmill warehouse.

After finding the warehouse empty of anything interesting, Sam returned to the Impala. Though it was unlikely, the only place big enough for a nest would be the mansion once owned by a man who gained his millions by buying and selling illegal organs on the black market and was killed by a police officer whose wife died after a failed kidney transplant. It had been for sale for years before being left to rot with the slowly dying town. Sam pulled into the overgrown driveway behind a transit and cautiously got out. This was more likely.

As he walked up the steps to the large carved door, he checked the windows. Blacked out. It could be just to stop people prying, but it could also be to stop sunlight. Sam steeled himself and knocked on the door, playing and replaying a cover story in his head just in case there was actually someone in there. After no answer, Sam pushed on the door until it came to a halt against something soft. He pressed harder and stumbled through as the doorstop moved unexpectedly easily.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and he covered his mouth and nose with an arm as the stench of blood hit him. Red seemed to coat everything, even reaching the ceilings in some places. Something went down here and he had no doubt it had something to do with Dean, though the smell of sulphur under the smell of all the blood gave him away also. Sam checked a few of the bodies, and they all had the tell-tale second set of teeth. So Dean found the nest after all. He could only hope that at least killing all of these vampires had sated the Mark, or he was surely screwed.

Sam began walking through the mansion, careful not to step on bodies or pools of blood as if it was a minefield. He raised his shotgun and called out. “Dean?!” There of course was no answer. On close inspection, one of the walls close to the entrance had salt embedded into it. Well shit. Someone clearly knows about Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never, right? Or does no one really care? ;)

Holy crap, rock salt hurts! Dean came to with a light pain in his chest, fading quickly as he began to stir. Well that was… bracing. A couple of shots had him out cold. He was no expert but surely he was powerful enough to withstand a simple salt buckshot. It didn’t seem to affect Crowley this much and granted, he’s the King of Hell – it has its perks – but he had nowhere near the power that Dean possessed. After all, Abaddon would have crushed him if it wasn’t for Dean.

Dean rolled his head up, looking around. It was a typical spot, just be an empty warehouse with a distant whistling of wind through a broken window echoing in the space. Looking down to see a neatly painted devil’s trap was unsurprising, though not comforting. It was very obviously a hunter who had caught him and to their credit had at least taken away his weapon unlike the vampires beforehand. Though he could feel it nearby, it was hidden from view.

A figure emerged rather angrily through a door directly in front of the demon. It took a moment for Dean’s mind to click, he had come across many faces the last couple of weeks and all in seedy bars, but he quickly began to realise that the man standing in front of him was none other than the man who he had been speaking to at a bar not two days ago, the hunter, Joe.

Joe steeled himself and glared at a blood-soaked Dean as the door kept swinging on its hinge behind him, holy water in hand. “How long have you been possessing him, you bastard?!” Joe asked in what would be a menacing tone, though Dean could see right through the façade. Joe was upset at the fact that he could’ve told his whole life story to a very real demon wearing the face of a man he looked up to.

Dean grinned and looked the hunter in his eye. He was tied up in the same manner as he was with the vampires, with the added bonus of a devil’s trap. His grin was mocking as he didn’t say a word. In a flick of the hunter’s wrist, Dean’s face was burning. Fuck, that’s the holy water then. The demon screamed out, though mostly just pissed off. “I’m not fucking possessed!” Dean admitted in a deep tone, skin hissing. The fact that the man was trying to get information out of him was amusing, though he kept up the illusion it was working. Dean had endured much worse torture than the pain inflicted with holy water of all things.

Joe could handle demons fine most of the time, but this one had the body and voice of Dean Winchester, and he found it hard to focus. From the stories he had heard, this demon fitted Dean’s personality perfectly and it was unnerving to see. Keeping his head, Joe continued. Friggin’ demons. “Impossible.” Joe said, standing his ground as the demon began laughing, eyes turning a deep black. “How long? Tell me or I send you back to Hell. You don’t and you’ll wish I would!” Joe threatened.

The laughing continued and the demon shook his head, eyes returning to normal. “You can’t send me down there. I go to Hell and come back when I want… Though that was before I threatened the King of Hell...” Dean mused for a moment, seeming to go over it in his head as Joe glared at him to continue. “At least the souls down there can’t run off like they can up here.” He grinned, recounting his years serving under Alastair as a torturer of souls. He missed it, now more than ever.

“You sick fuck.” Joe hissed, splashing the demon again. As Dean’s skin sizzled he shouted out, the pain akin to having acid or boiling water poured over and under his skin. He can’t help but laugh at his predicament once more. All it got him was another bout of holy water to the face.

“Oh for the _love_ of- Will you just _stop_ with the holy water, already?!” Dean spat, Mark burning. Dean shut his eyes tightly before growling in the back of his throat. When he reopened his eyes they were black again. He did the same trick with his cuffs as with the vampires. He calmly brought his hands in front of him, rubbing his wrists. “No demon cuffs? At least the devil’s trap was done right.” Dean sneered, chuckling. Joe had stepped back, perhaps coming to terms with the fact he is way out of his depth. Dean bent down to rip the ropes binding his ankles, eyes once again green.

Startled by the demon’s strength, Joe stepped well out of reach. He had never seen a demon do that before, let alone so easily. He held the flask of holy water firmly in his hand and watched as the demon stood to Dean’s full height. Steeling himself he asked, “Who are you?” Clearly he had picked a powerful demon to chat with. That was just his luck.

“Dean Winchester, the one and only.” Dean replied with a wide grin, his voice raspy. This was way above Joe’s paygrade and Dean revelled in the hunter’s internal struggle to find the truth in what the hell’s going on.

“Yeah… You’re _wearing_ him. Not the same thing.” Joe scoffed, keeping to what he knows. As far as he was concerned, no person could just be turned into a demon. He began to think that talking to this demon would get him nowhere.

“See this is what you don’t understand, _Joe_. This-” Dean began, cut off swiftly by Joe.

“Exocistamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…” Joe started, pausing as nothing happened. He continued with a slightly raised voice, “…omnis satanica potestas…” Still nothing. The hunter paused, looking over Dean with a furrowed brow.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a fully intact anti-possession tattoo. “Dude, like I said. Not possessed.”

Joe had no words. He had never heard anything like this. It couldn’t be true. Dean couldn’t possibly be a demon!

“Can’t be exorcised. Can I go now?” Dean continued, impatient to get out of the trap and to the Blade. He was itching for it back. He hadn’t been out of contact with the blade since Crowley placed it into his palm the night he was resurrected and he felt he was going mad.

“H-How?” Joe asked, putting the cap on the flask of holy water. He kept his cool and stood his ground while looking the demon in the eye.

“How what? How did I become a demon?” Dean chuckled to himself. “Long story.”

“We have plenty of time.” Joe said, crossing his arms with a hard look.

Dean sighed and subconsciously glanced in the direction of the First Blade, feeling it calling to him. His eyes snapped back to Joe as he frowned “Look, you should probably go before my bro turns up. I don’t care you have me trapped, and torture is useless. If you’re that much of a fanboy you should know why.” Dean mocked, upper lip curling in distaste. “So what’s it gonna be?” He asked in a low tone, covering the humming Mark on his arm.

Watching Dean’s actions, Joe could tell he was on edge for some reason and mulled it over in his head while he circled the devil’s trap. The demon’s glare became unfocused quickly and again he glanced away from the hunter. “I ain’t afraid of your baby brother.” Joe muttered. “Maybe we can see exactly how much _he_ can endure… You’re both a disgrace to hunters if you let yourself be turned into this… _thing_ , and he is allowing you to run around like this!”

“You call me a thing again and killing you isn’t the first thing I’m gonna do to you when I get out.” Dean growled, voice low and threatening.

Joe couldn’t help the shudder than ran through him at Dean’s tone. He had never been seriously injured before but many threats like this had been thrown his way from the mouths of demons. For now, Dean was trapped, but it likely wouldn’t stay that way forever and though he expressed no fear for the younger Winchester, he would most likely get his ass handed to him if they had a face-to-face. The return of Dean’s voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“You really wanna know what happened?” Dean asked, lifting his right arm as the hunter nodded firmly. Dean thumbed over the Mark and broke his gaze from the hunter to glance over it. “This…” He mumbled and looked back to the hunter, arms falling to his sides. “The Mark of Cain.” Dean elaborated, grinning widely.

“The- as in…?” Joe asked, taken aback.

“Yup.” Dean answered, laughing at the dumbfounded look on the hunter’s face. Though it was pretty clear for hunters nowadays to believe in certain parts of the bible, it was hard to face facts when they’re shoved into their faces all of a sudden. Dean remembered when he had to factor angels into his worldview after many years unbelieving in them.

“I – well… when I was different-” Dean chuckled to himself. “-I took on the Mark from Cain himself. It was a necessary component to take down Abaddon. She was a Knight of Hell; like what I am now just… weaker.” He smirked, proud of what he was. So powerful and indestructible. “Of course without it, the weapon to kill her was useless. The only thing in the world that can kill a Knight… The First Blade.” He glanced in the direction of the Blade again and took a deep breath.

Wow, the information flowed out of this demon. Joe was surprised it wasn’t more difficult after he refused the first time. Apparently he was big-headed, probably too much for his own good. “And so? How _exactly_ did it turn you into a demon?” Joe asked cautiously.

“Oh that’s the fun bit.” Dean looked back at the hunter with a smile. Wait, was he smiling? It quickly turned into a wicked grin. “The King of Hell apparently did a fair bit of research. The First Blade brought me back from the dead, and with upgrades.” Dean explained, punctuating his point by blinking his eyes from green to black and back again with a grunt of amusement. His expression turned dark. “Whatever it is with angels trying to become God, I’ll never know…” Dean growled to himself, Mark glowing again as he thought of vengeance.

Joe turned his back to Dean, going over the information in his head. He briefly thought about the hunters who had announced their hatred for the Winchesters in the past, saying how they have brought many an apocalypse down upon the Earth. He always assumed they were overreacting or jealous, but now it seemed they could have been right in their hatred. Trouble always came with the Winchesters. He absently trailed over toward his duffel on a table in the corner of the room and pulled the weapon he had found in the hand of the demon.

It was the jaw of one of the very first animals, Joe thought idly as he ran his fingers over the jagged teeth, dried blood flaking off. The hunter held the blade tightly to stop his hand from shaking, unsure about what he was doing. If the Blade worked and he managed to kill Dean, he would have Sam after him, but if he let the demon go, the lives of everyone Dean killed from then on would be on his head.

Dean watched the hunter carefully and with amusement. Did he listen to a word he just said? He focused his gaze hard on the hunter and backed up as Joe moved forward. Holding his arms up, he feigned panic, and laced it through his voice. “Don’t come any closer with that.” As the blade got closer, the Mark burned on Dean’s arm and he held back letting the thrill overcome him. He had to play this right.

Joe let out an uneasy chuckle and pushed the fact that this was Dean Winchester to the back of his mind. This was a demon in any case. He approached the devil’s trap, stopping at the edge as Dean backed up as far as he could. Looking over the blade once more, Joe gripped it tightly and stepped into the boundary of the trap. Big mistake.

Everything happened at once after that. Catching just a flash of the grin on Dean’s face a second too late, a powerful hand grabbed his wrist and twisted. Joe’s mind wandered to the time he was left alone in the house when he was eleven. It was tipping it down with rain and the clogged gutters were doing nothing to help matters. He had found the ladder in his dad’s garage and used it to climb up the side of the house. A few minutes into mindlessly scraping the soggy leaves from the gutter with an old garden broom, a huge spider of all things startled him. His foot slipped and he fell to the floor with a few minor scrapes. That was until the ladder fell atop him, causing his wrist to break and arm to be heavily bruised. He had to wait all day for his mother to get home before he got it bandaged. The pain was excruciating.

This didn’t compare to that day. Not even a little. Joe couldn’t hear himself scream. He had automatically dropped the Blade to cradle his wrist close to himself as he fell to his knees. Absently, he was aware of blood pouring over him as he made a blind grab for the Blade with his other arm. Unsurprisingly, a boot came down onto his outstretched hand, audibly crushing his fingers against the concrete floor of the warehouse and he cried out again. Dean bent down, weight shifting more onto the hunter’s broken fingers. He watched, enraptured at how easily he could break the hunter. As he picked up the First Blade, the air around them grew thick and he brought the tip to Joe’s chin, guiding his head to face him rather than the dusty floor.

Grunting in pain, Joe allowed his eyes to meet Dean’s pitch black ones. Dean was grinning widely, amusement clear in the lines of his face. The hunter had underestimated Dean and he was mentally kicking himself. All the times he’s heard of people getting burned due to their underestimation of the Winchesters, and he still managed to get himself into this situation.

As he felt the Blade dig into his neck, Joe thought his time was up until it left his skin, replaced with a fist connecting with his jaw. He was sure it had broken but he couldn’t discern anything past the agony flowing through him, each pump of his blood punctuating the pain of his snapped and bleeding wrist, the broken fingers of his other hand and his possibly broken jaw.

Dean laughed as he grabbed the hunter’s shirt and straddled him, landing another punch in the same place as before. Again and again Joe found his head swimming with the force of the punches until he was consumed by sweet darkness and the nothingness that came with it.

Dean grunted and shoved the limp body to the floor, the Mark humming with approval on his arm. He silently watched the hunter’s face become swollen and dark purple before shaking him violently with a renewed impatience. “Wake up, at least be awake for what’s coming to you!” Dean snarled. “You dumb fool, you deserve this.” The demon’s laugh rumbled through the warehouse as he spoke to the unconscious body. “You step into a devil’s trap holding one of the most powerful demons to exist; you deserve to be slaughtered.” Dean spat with gritted teeth into the hunter’s ear.

Joe felt himself yanked back into consciousness, pain filling his face and arms and the stench of sulphur filling his nose. He coughed hard, blood pooling in his mouth. Rolling his pounding head to the side, he spat the metallic taste from his lips. Dean wasted no time in grabbing his face and pulling him to sit up. Joe couldn’t do anything, his body too weak for him to move though with effort he opened his swollen eyes.

Through his blurred vision, he could make out the green of Dean’s eyes staring menacingly into his own. “De-” he started, but he was cut off.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Dean’s voice said, quickly followed by a white hot pain shooting through him, very easily making him forget about his broken bones. He tried to let out a scream, but all that came out was red. His eyes were wide as he began spluttering for air, his own blood caught in his throat and lungs drowning him.

The smooth slide of the blade through Joe’s chest was ecstasy, gliding right through to his back. Dean’s hand was inside the hunter, blood flowing out and soaking into Dean’s shirt sleeve. The hunter made a weak grab for the lapels of Dean’s shirt as he gargled, body convulsing weakly as his eyes glazed over and became unfocused, death gripping him and pulling him under.

After a few dizzying moments of staring at Joe’s dead body, Dean came back to himself and looked him over once before yanking the Blade and his hand from the warm corpse. It slumped to the ground and Dean stood up, looming over it as blood dripped from the Blade. A laugh was bubbling in his throat as he licked his lips, but he swallowed it as he looked up at the sound of footsteps.


	9. Chapter 9

The old Sam would’ve thrown up his lunch at the sight of his brother, covered in the blood of an innocent hunter and grinning like a madman. As it was, Sam was just surprised at how predictable everything was. Naturally, after finding out that Dean had been jumped by a hunter, Sam took off for the warehouse from before and sure enough a powerful stench of sulphur and the strangled sounds of a dying man greeted him.

As the poor hunter drowned in his blood, Dean looked downright _scary_ even to Sam. He didn’t know what to think. His brother just murdered a fellow hunter in cold blood and _enjoyed_ it. When Dean got himself under control and stood up, Sam walked forward from the shadows he had been hiding in.

When the demon’s gaze turned on him, his face showed Dean enough of what he thought – His brows causing his forehead to crease and his lips drawn into a thin line and eyes staring hard at his older brother. The demon simply grinned. Of course he found the whole thing so amusing.

“Heya Sammy.” Dean called, his voice cheerier than it has ever been. “How much’d you miss?”

Sam stepped towards Dean and the steadily drying pool of blood at his feet, his bitchface still in full effect “I apparently saw enough. What the hell happened?” As he got closer, he noticed the all too familiar symbol painted under Dean’s feet. Damn. He managed to kill a hunter while trapped. Sam almost chuckled at the incompetence of the man, but refrained from it. Just like a child, if Dean saw his amusement he would think it was OK. Which it definitely was _not_.

“Dean-” Sam began, standing at the outside edge of the devil’s trap, but as he caught Dean’s intense glare he paused. It felt as if Dean was staring into his non-existent soul, and it sent an icy chill down his spine. It didn’t last long. Within seconds, Dean was grinning widely at him. It was unsettling how volatile the demon’s mood changes were.

“You gonna let me out, Sammy?” Dean asked, gesturing to the trap, his head tilted to the side in question.

Sam rolled his eyes “What the hell happened? How did some rookie hunter get you trapped?” Sam snorted, smirking mockingly. Dean shot him a look and offered him no explanation. Reluctantly, Sam crouched on the balls of his feet and scratched the circle with his knife.

“Thank you!” The demon muttered ungratefully and stepped out of the devil’s trap. “Rock salt. Has quite the kick! Took me by surprise while I was taking out the nest. At least Joe here now knows better than to blow me away with that stuff.” He chuckled, glancing back at the still warm body.

Sam sighed “If you’re so powerful, how the hell’d you get jumped by this guy, never mind the salt? It barely does anything to Crowley.” Sam mused, smirking at his brother’s growing anger. He narrowly avoided getting a fist to his face. “Woah!”

“Screw you, Sam!” Dean huffed. “You try being a demon with no clue how to use your powers!” Sam almost jumped as Dean growled. “I killed the guy, right? I handled it!”

“Alright, alright! Calm down.” Sam snickered, stepping back. “Well since you took care of that nest, we’re done here.”

Sam heard his brother mutter “I guess we are.” as he pushed past him towards the exit, wiping the Blade on his jeans before tucking it back in. Sam followed closely on his heels.

When they got outside under a streetlamp, Sam noticed how covered Dean was. “Holy crap, Dean! You’re gonna have to burn those clothes. They’re covered in vampire and… hunter.” Sam chuckled. He could only imagine how uncomfortable he felt wearing clothes lathered in copious amounts of blood.

Dean grinned “Yeah I guess I’ll burn ‘em. Or keep them. What says ‘stay away’ better than this, huh?”

“What says ‘murderer, arrest me now’ or ‘probable demon. Kill.’ Better than that?” Sam asked rhetorically, laughing in response to the glare that was shot his way. He made his way to the Impala, grinning to himself.

“A job well done, Sammy!” Dean said after both of them were seated, shooting his brother a look before accelerating off, tyres screeching.

Of course Dean had to insist on getting ‘supplies’ before they got back to the motel to pack up rather than after. “Don’t forget the pie, Sammy.” Who does he think he is? In any case, it wasn’t quite worth being killed over pie, so Sam bought a couple, some other snacks and a few six packs of beer. It helped to have some alcohol at the bunker so Dean didn’t have to go out to a bar. He placed the supplies in the backseat and proceeded to get in the front. It was a difficult feat since the demon kept driving off a few inches before he had a chance.

When they got back to the motel room, Dean took, well more _peeled_ his shirt and undershirt off “I ain’t having a shower in this dump. It probably doesn’t even work.” Dean snorted “I’m gonna wait ‘til we get back to the bunker.”

“You sure? I mean, you like sitting in blood-soaked jeans? In the Impala with me for three hours?” Sam questioned, more like it was him who didn’t want to be confined with Dean covered in blood. The stench of sulphur was bad enough. “Plus. When did you stop trusting me to pack extra clothes?” He added.

“You saying you brought extra clothes?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised sceptically.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. They’re in the duffel. I packed it into the trunk when I came to find you.” Sam replied, turning to exit the room.

Dean nodded in approval and rolled his bare shoulders as he sat down to wait for Sam with the clothes. What he didn’t expect to hear was the Impala’s engine roar to life. He made a run out of the room for the car, but Sam had already turned onto the main road and off.

Dean growled and stormed back into the room, slamming the door behind him. Unsurprisingly he came across a note on the bed in Sam’s handwriting, reading ‘ _Sorry, babe. It just wasn’t meant to be.’_ with a picture of a broken heart. That bastard set him up to be left here. Not only that, but before he could pick up his clothes there were sirens blazing, followed by blue and red flashing lights through the drawn curtains and a loud banging on his door. Well this just made his day.

“This is the police, open up!” A voice shouted from behind the door. Cursing under his breath, Dean brushed his hand over the First Blade and went to open the door.

He wasn’t quite anticipating to be greeted by four officers, one shoving a gun in his face, two of them pushing past him into the room, but he could handle it. He held his hands up. “Heh heh, lemme guess. Someone phoned you fuckers, right? Anonymous tip? You can relax. It’s my brother screwing about.” He didn’t expect them to believe him.

“Yeah, right. _Brother_.” One of the officers behind him snickered, holding up the note between his fingers. Dean rolled his eyes, oblivious to the eye gestures of the cop in front of him to the one behind him.

The familiar feeling of cold metal touching his wrist as a cuff was clicked into place sparked Dean into swinging around to punch the man behind him, causing him to stagger back. As he went for the Blade in his jeans, the officer with the gun, now at his back, shot him in the shoulder and finished the job as Dean fell to his knees, cuffing his other arm in place behind him and pushing him to lie face down on the floor.

As pain erupted in Dean’s shoulder, he had to mask the chuckle as a groan at the fact that it would only last seconds if he wanted it to. The demon knew he had been caught red-handed, _literally_ since he hadn’t had chance to wash his hands of the blood, but that nothing would come of it. He could take care of these scum easily.

“I’m arresting you for the assault of a police officer and the murder of Joe Price. You have the right to remain silent. Though my guess is that you’ve heard this speech before. You by all means can ignore that last bit.” The officer sneered and dragged Dean from the floor by the chain of the cuffs and his injured shoulder.

He let himself be dragged and slammed roughly into the car, easily keeping the gunshot wound from healing so as to not arouse confusion. That would make this so much harder. He made a sound of protest as the First Blade was ripped from his jeans, but it just got him another shove. “The hell is this? Not the most efficient of murder weapons is it?” The man snorted as he looked the Blade over. Oh, he had no idea.

“You gonna keep talking to yourself and let me bleed to death?” The demon huffed, distantly aware of the second patrol car leaving with two of the officers armed with any evidence from the motel room.

“It’s awful cold out here, ain’t it, Jack?”

“Freezing. Gotta wonder what that chill can do to a person.”

Dean snorted “Alright, alright. You’ve had your fun… or are you gonna dump me out in the middle of nowhere and let me bleed out and freeze to death? Because if so… Can we just get it over with?”

“Now _that’s_ an idea.” Jack mused, mocking, before he circled the car to get in the driver’s seat.

The other officer held the First Blade to Dean’s neck a moment, musing over its origin and capability. Shrugging after a moment, he opened the back door to stuff Dean inside and slammed it shut before getting into the passenger seat in front of Dean as they drove off.

“You wouldn’t guess how many times I’ve been cuffed today.” Dean huffed, making casual conversation with the two cops before he killed them. “And not in the sexy way.” He winked at them in the rear-view mirror. No response. He rolled his eyes. “It hasn’t worked out well for any of them. Know why?”

Within moments the car screeched to a halt as Dean reached forward and wrapped his arm around the officer in front of him, pulling back with enough force to choke him to growl into his ear. “Because I killed them.” His eyes were black as he shifted his arm, instantly snapping the cop’s neck.

Jack was hurriedly talking into his radio as he backed out of the car. He took out his gun and rounded the car to point it through the window at Dean who turned to him with a shit-eating grin on his face. This clearly unsettled the cop as he backed away and reiterated the need for backup. Lots of it.

Unfazed by the gun, Dean reached over the front seat to grab the Blade. He easily kicked open the car door from the inside and stood to face Jack, eyes still black and shoulder fully healed. “Aw, c’mon. You ain’t hurting anyone with that pea-shooter.” Dean laughed as a bullet ripped through his chest.

Dean lunged forward to tear the gun from Jack’s hands. The cop’s disbelieving expression serving to further amuse the demon. “You were saying about leaving me out here to bleed out?” Dean shoved the Blade into Jack’s stomach and ripped it out at an angle such that the teeth of the Blade ripped through his flesh, spraying fresh blood everywhere.

Winking at the rapidly dying police officer now doubled over, Dean turned to pull the other body out of the patrol car and dump it onto the ground. He shut the doors and got into the driver’s seat to accelerate off, leaving the scene with a screech of tyres.

-

Sam got back to the bunker swiftly after breaking a few speed limits, giving himself a head-start to enjoy some peace before the demon – likely very pissed-off demon – Got back. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he knew Dean would kill most, if not all of the police. It hardly bothered him as he strode towards the shower room. God knows, he needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all who have put up with my terrible and repetitive writing, I commend you! Please, please take the time to give me some feedback, I would appreciate it!
> 
> The next bit of this fic is split as parts two and three of the series. So far I've started to write the Destiel version. I intend to write a platonic version, but I guess it's only gonna happen if anyone wants it. In any case, the first chapter is gonna be up and I'll see where it goes.
> 
> Love y'all <3


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